


Lotho's Old Flame

by Aria_Breuer



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen, Inspired by Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:57:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10072898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Breuer/pseuds/Aria_Breuer
Summary: Frodo is on the case as Deputy Mayor when a mysterious hobbitess is found unconscious. Oh, the secrets that are about to unfold. Inspired by the Sherlock Holmes fandom. No slash.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimers:** I do not own The Lord of the Rings and Sherlock Holmes. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and Arthur Conan Doyle.
> 
> This idea came up shortly after my idea where Thranduil is Sherlock Holmes. Should be interesting. :)

Samwise Gamgee, a brown-haired hobbit with a knack for gardening, knocked on the front green door three times. That was odd. No one was home. Not even the candles were lit, same as the fireplace in the parlor. Just what was going on? Was Frodo Baggins, Mr. Frodo, at home at all? Shouldn’t he know that he and Rosie were wed. This was their day to – oh, he couldn’t take this.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam barged into the smial. That was odd. Everything was in its place. Wait… he turned the corner, entered the parlor with its wood furniture and intricate fireplace. But sprawled on the floor was the curly brown haired hobbit. No. It was Frodo, a brown-haired hobbit with bright blue eyes and a usual perky personality. He was either asleep or… no. He couldn’t think of what would happen. Well, he placed a foot on Frodo’s stomach. Frodo gasped.

“Sam, I can’t breathe,” Frodo gasped.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Sam said, taking his foot off of Frodo’s stomach at once. “What are you doin’?”

“Well, that plan isn’t working,” Frodo said, moving to a sitting position. “There was a crime here in the Shire. I was just playing out what had happened to that poor hobbitess.”

“And what did you find?” Sam asked, concerned. “Anything interesting?”

Frodo shook his head. “Nothing to go on. But…” he stood up, “maybe playing dead isn’t the best idea I’ve had.”

“You’ve already done that to me once before, before Cirith Ungol,” Sam said.

“Please Sam, do not remind me what Shelob did to me, or didn’t do,” Frodo said, alarmed. He moved over to an empty chair and sat down.

“I thought you were dead,” Sam admitted. He looked around, “Why aren’t the candles lit, or the fireplace?”

Frodo grinned. “Because it’s daylight. Who lights candles in the middle of summer?”

“What about the fireplace?” Sam asked, pointing to the fireplace.

“Oh Sam, trying to find the mystery in everything,” Frodo said, grinning. “No. It’s for an experiment, to see how much ash I can find the fireplace, next to the burnt, smoking wood pile.”

“Frodo, Sam and I are moving in. Didn’t Sam tell you that?” Rosie Cotton, a brown-haired hobbitess who fell in love with Sam, entered Bag End, gesturing to Sam to help her out. Frodo grinned again. He was happy Sam found a wife. Maybe he would find one someday, too… no. Back to crime solving. That’s what counted. Rosie spoke to him now, “Frodo, let the Sheriffs figure out this case.”

“I’m Deputy Mayor, Rosie,” Frodo said, beside himself. He spoke more maturely, “Nevertheless, I accept your wishes. So long for now!” He darted out of Bag End, faster than Sam could catch him. His wounds hadn’t pained him yet, but then he was eager to find out what became of that brown-haired hobbitess in the grey dress. Was she truly dead or was she just drunk? Nope. There she was, alive and well. How odd? He rushed up to her at once. “Madam, pardon the intrusion, but last I recall, you were on the floor in the Green Dragon, sprawled out.”

“I beg your pardon!” the hobbitess was shocked. “You must have missed all the action. No. I wasn’t knocked out. I just had one drink too many, and one of my friends took me home when I could barely stand on my own two feet. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will be off.”

Frodo watched her in vain. She was acting suspicious. Minding his steps, Frodo followed the hobbitess over to the beach. He stood behind a tree, eavesdropping in on the hobbitess and her friends.

“Have the ruffians come again?” the hobbitess asked her friends.

“No,” one gentle-hobbit spoke up. “I say Frodo’s done a good job as Deputy Mayor.”

“He was saying such strange things,” the hobbitess went on. “He thought I was dead.”

“Oh Martha, how much crime do you see in the Shire? Other than hobbits causing the usual chaos,” the hobbitess’ friend said.

“Perhaps you’re right,” the hobbitess said. “We might as well leave things to Frodo Baggins to decide.”

Frodo sighed softly. Maybe he was wrong to be suspicious of her. He waited until the group of friends had moved, before darting out of Bywater, towards Bag End, where it was safe. Nope. No danger would come to him or his friends. That he could guarantee. He just didn’t expect walking over a rope net and being careened into the air, right in the middle of the market square in Bywater… or the faces laughing at him and shouting at him either.

And there was the hobbitess, swinging the net around. “You see? Do you really think I’d play dead for no reason?”

“Why did you do this?” Frodo asked. “Let me down.”

“No,” the hobbitess said, smiling wickedly. “I’m going to enjoy this. And you…”

“Stop!” Sam cried, parting the crowd as he advanced towards Frodo. He turned to crowd and the hobbitess. “You’ve got no right to do this to Mr. Frodo, your Deputy Mayor.”

“Why? An oddball suddenly becomes Deputy Mayor,” the hobbitess asked, “I mean, is the Shire going to put up with this. Your Deputy Mayor and his friend think it is right to go out into the world, facing orcs, meeting elves and dwarves, and after the madness we’ve been put through, you expect him to become your deputy mayor? Have you lost your minds?”

“What has Mr. Frodo done to you?” Sam asked in turn. “You imprison him, mock him, pull off a huge act just to get attention. How fair is that? We’ve saved the Shire and you still find ways to humiliate him further?”

“It’s okay, Frodo. I’m…” Rosie slowly moved the rope down. Frodo moved out of the net the second he was free, thankful for Rosie’s help as well.

“Do you hear this?” the hobbitess asked the crowd. “You expect this to go on any longer? Our Shire was safe and sound without the need for outsiders. Bilbo was odd, Frodo’s worse. Why not name me the Mistress Mayor? I can get the Shire back on its feet, like dear old Lotho did once.”

“Were you in love with Lotho?” Frodo asked her, curious.

“It was fleeting, but my heart has always been for nobler hobbits who’ll do anything…”

“Shirriffs, take her to a cell,” Frodo told the Shirriffs, pointing to the hobbitess.

“Wait. I have so much more to tell you about…” however, the hobbitess was cut off by vegetables thrown at her. Frodo shook his head. At least, that was over.

“Are you okay, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked Frodo, concerned.

“I need time,” Frodo said, finding a bench to sit down. Sure, the hobbitess was put away, the Shire was saved, but being captured like that reminded him too well of Cirith Ungol and the Barrow-downs. Was there ever a time in which he wasn’t captured by someone? A firm hand brought his attention back to reality. He looked up at Sam, whose concern was firm. “Being captured again… I don’t know if I’m up to the task of mysteries and crime solving. Think I should give up.”

“Well, if it’s something you want to do,” Sam said, sitting down next to him. “You do what you want, Mr. Frodo.”

“My life was nearly in danger today,” Frodo said, saddened. “I don’t think I can do it.”

“There must be something…” Rosie was cut off by another voice. Frodo turned around, watching a hobbit lad sneak off with some tomatoes. His heart lightened.

“Go on. You are Deputy Mayor,” Sam said, smiling.

“Here I go,” Frodo said, chasing after the lad until he grabbed him and hoisted him back to the seller, who took the tomatoes back. He sighed. Another day for crime solving then. Yes, it was indeed.

The End.


End file.
